She and He
by Fading Skyline
Summary: He was goodlooking, arrogant, and rather tall. So was she. Goodlooking, I mean. He wanted her. She didn't want anything to do with him.
1. Good Night

He really had gorgeous eyes. Silvery, steel; the kind of color that was clear in terms of appearance, but not when it came to trying to read his emotions. They were completely enchanting, sprinkled with a bit of blue-specked tragedy. The kind of eyes that made you stare, whether you wanted to or not. He walked the way eighteen year old boys walked - slightly overconfident. He wasn't really strutting, but more like leisurely strolling with heavy steps, letting his broad shoulders move gracefully with his body. He was a marvelous example of the male specimen, having had inherited the aristocratic, ruggedly masculine good looks of his father along with the charm of his mother. As he passed by me, his eyes slowly dropped down in an almost lazy fashion, having the audacity to trail its gaze upwards until catching my eye. Saying that I wasn't only a little breathless would be like denying the color of the sky. He didn't smile or smirk or even acknowledge me for that matter, but the spark of amusement in his eyes said everything.

I had already accepted the fact that I was attracted to Malfoy on some physical level, understanding that it wasn't actually a crime if nearly the entire Hogwarts' female population felt the same. He had changed, though. Give or take a few years, he had both grown physically (as was observable by the gawking females as he passed) and grown up mentally. Matured is the word; he had seemed to become his own person. I hadn't heard another, "_My father will blah-etc you when he hears about this_," for a while now. Don't get me wrong, he still sneered and smirked and made completely unnecessary comments that were totally uncalled for. It was just that he was less childish, you could say. No more "mudblood" or "Potty head", but more of a balled fist and a rude gesture, or a spewing of curses that were characteristic of a slightly over-confident, almost-adult that had filled out quite nicely.

Well, boys will be boys.

I observed his passing out of the corner of my eye, just as I heard, "Hermione, you all right?" Next to me, Harry gazed at me in a concerned fashion, as I'm sure he noted the way my nose wrinkled slightly, which it had a traitorous tendency to do so when I was pondering something deeply.

I brushed him away. "Yes, of course, I'm fine. Just thinking about the next Potions assignment," I muttered lamely, but to no surprise, he wasn't fooled. Neither was Ron for that matter, as he threw an arm around my neck in a particularly chummy way, and grinned at me. "She's checking out the blokes, aren't you?" He said it in a rather loud and intrusive manner so that I couldn't help to be embarrassed when people turned around to look in a curious fashion. I swatted him upside the head.

"Hey, hey!" He chuckled, still keeping his arm on my shoulders, which was quite heavy as if a log had been thrown across my back.

I told him so.

He made an irritated face, but then leaned even more heavily on me. "Don't change the subject. Tell me. Who _was _it that you were ogling in such an obvious manner?" He whispered conspiratorially.

"I wasn't _ogling_ anybody!" I protested heavily, watching as a slow, knowing smile spread across Harry's face. I was a bad liar.

"You can't even tell your best mates?" The black-haired fiend feigned a rather convincing pout, finally giving in to laughter and throwing his head back uproariously. I gave them both the usual 'you're-so-bloody-stupid look', and quickened my pace. They were only in such a good mood because they had won the match against Ravenclaw yesterday.

They easily caught up and stepped in front of me, their large frames blocking the way. "Hermione, you know that look never works. After the hundredth time of being subliminally told that we're stupid arses doesn't faze us anymore," Ron admonished. Harry nodded beside him.

"A girl can try," I sighed.

They ignored the sarcastic remark. I always envied the way that boys could suddenly be completely deaf of anything they didn't want to hear. Nonetheless, they continued to badger me. "Tell us, and we'll find out if he's _interested_." Ron said the last word in a sing-song voice, while Harry stood beside him waggling his eyebrows.

I snorted and rolled my eyes. No doubt they could. Maybe find out somewhat tactlessly, but find out nonetheless. At their prodding looks, I finally said, "_Malfoy. _Malfoy looks rather good in his trousers today, no?"

Harry slowly blinked and rubbed his jaw.

Ron stared at me for a bit, and scratched the hairs on the back of his neck.

I rolled my eyes.

Eventually, the daft boys caught on. Ron even recovered enough of his composure to mumble, "And here I thought you had taste."

"Apparently not, considering the likes of people that I associate myself with," I shot back.

"Rubbish. You love us, and you know it," chided Harry. On my right side, he slung his arm around my shoulders, while Ron did the same on my left. "I'm starved." Ron suddenly muttered, forgetting the whole ideal. For once, I was glad for the fact that food was his number one priority. Harry, on the other hand, looked intensely at me for a few seconds longer and smiled most curiously.

Harry leaned in close and whispered, "I'll find out who you're pining after. Eventually. I'm not Harry-bloody-Potter, savior of the world for nothing, you know. I have _connections_, darling."

This time, I was the one who laughed. "Come on. Let's get to lunch, before Ron _dies_." Sure enough, the expression on Ron's face was one of complete exhaustion and desperation. He had quite the flair for dramatics.

I staggered into the Great Hall as gracefully as possible when these two attached to me, who insisted on using my body as an arm rest.

Lunch, it was.

- - - -

Pureblood or not, males do notice when a pretty girl walks by. However, the differentiating factor between us males, is that some of us just don't leave our pride hanging along with our tongues. I happen to be one of those select few. Some call it indifference, snobbery, or just plain 'playing hard to get'.

I call it tact.

Hermione Granger was pretty enough, I could give her that. You'd have to be either blind or not on the straight and narrow to see that. Although, even Eamonn Simms, the proud and declared comer out of the closet, did once say rather crudely, "I would shag that girl silly, if she were into the, you know, sex for only pleasure thing." That elicited a chorus of 'yeahs' from the rest of the male listening party.

Crude, I know.

I turned my thoughts back to the present and watched as Granger, flanked by her two asinine groupies, walked towards me. As she got closer, I unabashedly traced my gaze up the length of her legs, along her torso, and up to her face. I watched her blush, as I blatantly studied her face. Granger was the classy kind of pretty; not the slag, overly made-up to enhance what you weren't born with, kind of pretty. If it weren't for that stick that seemed permanently lodged up her arse on most occasions, I probably would have been attracted to her on both the emotional and physical level. Then there was the blood thing, which I got over it a few years back, but that was a story for another time. I caught her eyes, which interestingly enough, seemed to hold an air of attentiveness and curiosity buried under the usual stone cold indifferent gaze that she seemed to save especially for me.

Was she sizing me up?

Bloody hell, she was.

I even think her eyes lingered on the south of the belt area for a second there.

Suddenly, our eyes broke contact, as Potter himself, king of all things that irritated me shitless, caught her attention.

"It must be bloody fantastic to share a room with her," Zabini suddenly muttered beside me, eyes trained on the same thing. I scoffed, and slid him a sideward glance.

"You have no idea," I said, letting the vague meaning swing in the air, implying things that had obviously never happened.

Granger was Head Girl. As if that came to anyone's surprise. But then throw in the fact that I was appointed Head Boy, and you'll get a whole lot more than easy acceptance. People who hardly know me are always bloody surprised when they find out that I'm smart. As if my performance could possibly be below average, whether in class or in bed. I suppose my position got a bit of a boost from the head of my house, as he seemed to like to remind me _every chance he got_. Apparently, he proffered my well-roundedness to the headmaster ("He plays quidditch. He's athletic, Dumbledore."), as well as my good leadership skills ("He's captain, Dumbledore.").

Quidditch is good for more than one thing, so it seems.

Contrary to most of the beliefs of Hogwarts' male population, our living arrangement isn't exactly ideal. Ideal would mean one bed and very confined quarters, if you catch my drift. On the plus side, Granger seemed to have mellowed out over the years, thankfully enough, since hardly anyone wants to be throwing back Headache Droughts every few minutes.

"Damn. We're going to be late." Zabini sighed idly next to me, pretending concern.

I rolled my eyes. "Let's go." I quickened my step, feeling a pang of annoyance as I heard the rest of our group grumble loudly as they protested against moving. Pity, considering half of them were on the house team.

I would say that they were wholly responsible for our continuing losses to Gryffindor.

We half-jogged across the courtyard to Binn's classroom, to find him half-asleep, teaching the same lesson he had taught yesterday.

I don't even know why I bothered half the time.

- - - -

"Granger, I'm bloody hungry," Malfoy suddenly growled from his spread-eagle position on the couch, nurturing the petulant child that seemed to live inside him.

I looked up from the large table in the common room that we shared, where I had been writing a foot-long Potions essay until I had been rudely interrupted by my roommate's childish demands, and gave him a glare. I then ignored him and continued writing.

I took my cue from the boys: ignore whatever you didn't like.

A second later, there was a thump beside me, as he got up and pulled a chair up next to mine. He swung his foot around the back and straddled it.

"I'm serious. I'm starving and bored as hell," He said, pushing himself into my personal space to see what I was writing. "That's a terrible sentence…" He continued, eyes perusing the lines. He really never knew when to shut up.

I roughly pushed his face away with the palm of my hand. "Do go away."

"Jesus, woman," He growled, rubbing the bridge of his nose, as he gave me a rather antagonizing look. "I was just lookin' for a bit of sympathy," He paused, suddenly leaning into the curve of my neck, so that his lips brushed my skin ever-so slightly as he spoke, "and some entertainment."

The tingles that went through my body were completely unwarranted, making me jump a bit. I hurriedly pushed him off. "Malfoy! Don't you have things to do, like homework, or laundry, or _shave_?" I rattled off.

He seemed to seriously contemplate my words, as he rubbed his chin. "Shave? I shaved this morning, _Granger_. I don't look scruffy, do I? Not the way Weasley does by Friday morning, yeah?" He said, giving me a wink.

I ignored Malfoy's jibe at Ron and his tendency to place sleep before shaving on his list of To-do's.

He continued, "And in any case, lucky for you, I'm free this entire weekend."

"_Lucky for me_," I repeated with a tinge of sarcasm, sincerely hoping he would sense my hostility and leave. He continued to look at me expectantly. "Then go sleep," I offered.

He looked faintly amused. "_Sleep?" _He repeated the word as if I had just suggested he go have a midnight romp with Filch. "I could think of much more entertaining things to do on my expensive, white sheets."

"Right. As if shagging you're pale ass on top of your thousand thread count Egyptian cotton sheets is one of my more pressing priorities."

"Don't knock it 'til you've tried it, love," he said with a smirk.

Before I could protest and shoot some witty snappish remark at him, he got up and walked around to the back of my chair, leaving me in a much more vulnerable position than before. I felt his large hands rest on my shoulders, slightly squeezing them. If I had happened to swallow my pride whole, I would've even said that his actions produced a pleasurable, relaxing feeling that drifted throughout my body.

The day I admitted such things would be the day that my pride choked me to death.

I felt his lips graze the side of my neck. "The offer's open," He murmured.

A dangerous mixture of nervousness and recklessness spread throughout my entire body, as I contemplated my next move. Smirking to myself, I got up slowly, forcing Malfoy to stop his actions and lift his head off my neck. Turning around, I slowly slid one of my arms around his neck and placed my other hand on his cheek, slowly tracing his jaw line with my thumb. As his eyes widened in disbelief, a brief flare of pleasure burst within me, a product of the knowledge that I could knock Draco Malfoy off his guard. 

Ignoring the tremors in my legs, I pressed myself fully upon the length of his body. I leaned even closer, pressing my lips to the side of his jaw, placing light kisses up to the corner of his mouth. I hadn't expected myself to be so affected by the contact, but I was. Inconveniently. I was dimly aware of the warmth of his skin, the minty breath that came out of his parted mouth, and the way his breath hitched as I got closer and closer to his mouth. No to mention the growing hardness that was pressing not so subtly into me.

"Granger, are you serious?" His voice sounded so different from his usual measured calm and collectiveness. It was rough, hoarse, sounding as if he didn't have enough oxygen. There was a rumble from deep within his chest.

I shifted my position so that my lips were a centimeter away from his. There was a second of tension, before I breathed, "_No, so stop propositioning me,_". As I said it, my lips brushed his ever so slightly. The tingles that erupted were so unexpected, that I almost leaned in completely and kissed him. But I didn't. If I had, that would've defeated the whole purpose of the carefully planned maneuver.

Ignore, ignore, ignore.

Pushing myself out of his embrace, I forced my legs to stabilize and start moving. My vision was hazy, my lips were tingling, and my legs were shaky: I'd seen better days. I had underestimated the attraction of Draco Malfoy. Yet, I had accomplished my purpose, and had perhaps, from the rare look of extreme shock on his face, managed to completely disconcert the wanker for once.

It took a while for him to process what I had said.

- - - - -

I was breathless. She made me breathless. It was a little bit ridiculous and it would've been funny. That is, had it not been me.

"Wh-what?" I _heard_ myself stutter, but I was too dazed to be appalled at my lack of composure.

"You heard me," She stated smoothly. She was grinning a smirk that looked a little too much like mine, but she was still trying to conceal her heavy breathing.

"Goodnight, Malfoy," She stated calmly, patting my cheek like I was a pre-pubescent boy. I watched her retreating back as it disappeared into her bedroom, with a mixture of detachment, and an urge to yell, 'wait!', on the tip of my tongue.

Dammit.


	2. Don't Plan on It

The weekend had arrived. I slipped on a pair of track shorts, an oversized sweatshirt that possibly belonged to Harry, from the looks of the faded Scooby Doo decal on the front of it, and a pair of flip flops. I ventured out of my room, hastily putting my curls in a bun, acutely aware of the possibility that Malfoy might be hiding in a corner, just waiting for the optimal opportunity to lunge out and revenge last night.

However, when I stepped into the common room, there was no one in sight. All there was, was the early morning sunlight slanted through the windows, patterning stripes of light onto the maroon couches. There was a rush of relief; I did not want to face an irate Draco Malfoy. I made my way down the steps into the Great Hall, catching sight of Ron and Harry seated at their usual spots at the middle of the Gryffindor dining table. I took a seat next to Harry, and across from Ron.

"I told you she favors me," Harry said offhandedly to Ron, noting my seating choice. Ron rolled his eyes in return, and after a hurried "mornin'" to me in acknowledgement of my presence, immediately turned back to his breakfast, avoiding any further attempts of conversation. Harry, too, was engrossed in the Daily Prophet that had just been dropped onto his plate.

"Did you know that Rita Skeeter is going to be having a book signing appearance for her new autobiography?" Harry noted, moving the page over so that I could see the photo that accompanied the article. I was keenly observing the plastic wide smile on the blonde '_reporter's_'- if that word could be used so loosely, face, as she waved back and forth on the page, when Professor McGonagall approached the table.

"Good Morning, Miss Granger," She acknowledged, continuing, "May I speak to you for a moment?" I looked up at her in confusion for a moment, but quickly got up and followed her out of the Great Hall.

"Is there a problem, Professor?" I was rather nervous. Had she found out about my almost-kiss with Malfoy last night? Or how about that tryst with Finnigan in the broom closet, last year… ?

Oh god. That was a bad one.

"No, no, there's no problem," she hurriedly corrected, "I just wanted to see how you and Malfoy are doing with the Prefect's patrolling schedule. I need it by Monday, you know," She said, raising an eyebrow.

I cursed inwardly, choosing a few other select phrases of Ron's favorites to run through my head. I had forgotten all about that, and my other Head Duties, in the excitement of the idea of my final year at Hogwarts. "Oh… of course, Professor!" I tried to cover up cheerily, but from the look of half amusement and half suspicion on her face, it seemed as if she wasn't fooled. 

"Well, then, just to make sure Miss Granger, that I have that list in my hands by Monday. It's vitally important." She made a move to leave, but turned around after a sudden thought. "Also, I hope you've compiled a list of school-wide events and activities to propose to the Prefects meeting on Monday," She added.

"R-right, of course! We're merely tying up loose ends right now!" My stammering probably didn't help the validity of my argument. She smiled a little knowing half-smile in response, and nodded quickly. She turned and quickly walked off, as the clicking of her stocky heels against the marble floor matched the rhythmic pounding in my head. 

- - - - -

"Malfoy! Malfoy!" I shouted, banging on the door to the boys' changing rooms. I had finally found out where the bugger had been all morning: practicing in the Quidditch pitch. After much fair bargaining with Pansy ("_I'll take off fifty bloody house points if you don't tell me where the hell_ _he is, Parkinson_"), I had hurriedly made my way to the splintered wooden door, where questionable odors were emanating from.

There was a second of pause, and the door swung open, to reveal a shirtless and very toned Blaise Zabini. He was clad only in his uniform pants and padding. He unabashedly swung his gaze up and down my body, finally resting his fixed stare onto my chest.

"Eyes up, Zabini," I snapped. He looked up in acknowledgement, and smirked.

"I'd say the same would go for you," He shot back, as he had apparently noticed my gaze on his torso. To accompany the comment, he pursed his lips and air-kissed me, and winked when I shot him an appalled look in response.

"MALFOY! YOUR WIFE'S HERE!" He shouted, and turned without a last glance in my direction. Lucky for him, because he might've ended up infertile, had he stayed a second longer.

Malfoy came up to the doorway, putting a hand on the doorframe and leaning against it. He was also shirtless. And very good-looking. But I had to concentrate on the matters at hand.

"You called, love?" He raised an eyebrow.

I shot him a smothering look.

He had the audacity to smirk. "Honestly, Granger. You couldn't have waited 'til I got back to the common room? You really do want me that bad, yeah?"

"Shut. Up." I accentuated each syllable with a hard poke in his chest. "We need to set up the Prefect's patrolling schedule, and organize a list of possible school-wide functions to propose to the Prefects meeting on Monday," I prattled off, as he rubbed his chest, and gave me a '_spare me_', sort of look.

He did not seem to share the same sort of urgency that I felt.

"Come on!" I tugged at his forearm. To my absolute surprise, he didn't move an inch.

"I don't have a shirt on, Granger," He said, with a trace of faint amusement in his voice.

"Well, put one on then! We're going to be working all day, and possibly part of tomorrow," I answered back, sharply.

"In order for me to do so, you'd have to let go of my arm first," He said lightly, never breaking my gaze.

And I did. Not before digging my nails slightly into his flesh, making him hiss in pain and mutter a sort of profanity at me.

"You got three minutes, _love_," I mocked to his retreating back.

- - - - -

We were both sitting on the common room floor, poring over my sheet of paper. I was sitting properly cross-legged, whereas Malfoy was sprawled in an undignified manner on the floor. He had propped his feet on the coffee table, and was looking at me from an upside-down position. We were arguing; but what else was new. Better that, than relive the steamy confrontation from the night before.

"I bloody _refuse _to be paired with MacMillan. I am not spending an hour every week to patrol the fifth and sixth floors with a stupid, squat, spineless, poof."

"You only don't like him because he's Hufflepuff."

"_So_? If I'm going to be patrolling the fourth and fifth floors in Peeves' territory, and having the damn ghost chuck things at my head, then I would prefer to do it with someone less idiotic."

"Well, you're going to have to patrol with a Hufflepuff."

"For God sakes, _why_? Can't we just pair two of their lot together, and call it a day?"

"No! Absolutely not! I have to patrol with you and Zabini on two separate occasions! Compared to you lot, Hufflepuffs are a walk in the park."

"That's rather insulting, Granger."

"Tell me that the next time you stare at my chest."

"That's rather insulting, Grang- _Ouch_! Hell! Was that even _necessary_?"

"You bloody asked for it. Now anyways, would you prefer Susan Bones or Lindsay Grisham?"

"…"

"You have the mentality of a five-year old. Stop _pouting_, for god sakes. Choose, or I'll choose for you."

"Bones. She's got a thing for me."

"Doesn't _everyone_."

"You know it, love."

"HERE. Look over the chart. Does it go over well?"

"You put Weasley and Patil, together? _Good idea_."

"What's wrong with that?"

"Friend's best interests at heart, yeah? The two will probably wake up the whole damn floor with their shagging."

"…"

"I'm right, aren't I?"

"Fine. Padma will go with Lindsay, and Ron will go with you."

"Yeh, thought so- wait, _what_?"

"Good idea, _love_."

- - - - -

"Have any ideas for school-wide events this year?"

"_I'm tired_."

"Come on, Malfoy! If we finish this tonight, we'll have all of tomorrow for ourselves."

"What will you give me?"

"How about what I _won't_ give you, if you cooperate."

"_Sassy_."

- - - - -

"How about a Halloween Masquerade Ball?"

"Cliché."

"Fine! Then you think of something, Malfoy."

"Quidditch."

"What about Quidditch?"

"Game."

"Playing against whom?"

"Everyone."

"Oh, wait! That's actually a good idea. We could set up four teams, with players from every house. The captains would choose their players, right? But they would have to choose players from different houses… And we could host it on a weekend. They could all play against each other, whereas the winning team could get, well, a lot of butterbeer or something like that. It would promote inter-house unity!"

"Exactly."

- - - - -

"I still think we should host a few dances."

"Mhm."

"Halloween, Valentine's Day, and definitely the graduation party for the Seventh Years, I'd say."

"Mhm."

"Also, I think you should cut off your dick and mount it to the wall as a semblance of your overwhelming indignity."

"Mhm."

"Goodnight, Malfoy."

"Mhm."

- - - - -

"_WAIT A MINUTE_!"


	3. Admittance

It was Monday, and the Prefects' meeting was absolute chaos. The Heads hadn't even started, and the Slytherins had taken a liking to lounging on the desks in the empty classroom that the meeting was being held in, rather than sitting properly and civilized on a chair like the rest of them. It didn't help that they were completely antagonizing the Hufflepuffs, by throwing, of all things, _spitballs_ at them. Seamus, Terry, and Ron were trying to do a trick Quidditch move, without brooms, because it was surely the sane thing to do. Plus, Blaise and Thomas were trying to charm the hem of Susan's skirt to raise an inch or three. Without her permission, of course.

"Will you lot SHUT THE HELL UP!" Malfoy roared, from his seat at the front of the room. One of his hands was gripping his knee and he was leaning forward slightly, with a rather irate expression on his face.

This seemed to almost do the trick. Even the Slytherins looked up with a practiced expression of mild curiosity. However, the Gryffindors, with mixed looks of disgust and indifference, continued to talk quietly amongst themselves. Malfoy, staring purposely at them, looked ready to have an aneurysm.

"Ron, Seamus, _please_," I finally said, saving Malfoy from his impending implosion.

They quieted, apparently having greater respect for the person with the morals and decency. "Anyways," I continued after a moment. "We've made up the prefects' patrolling schedule. Please look it over carefully, and let us know if you have any conflicting schedules or after school activities. If so, we'll rearrange your patrolling times."

As I spoke, Malfoy charmed the schedule sheets to be handed out to each individual person. There was, ever-so surprisingly, a lot of groaning and whining.

"Bloody hell! I've got to patrol with Zabini on my Friday night!" Ron protested from his seat in the back corner.

"Shut it, Weasley," Malfoy snapped at him.

"Trust me, _Weasley_, spending time with you isn't one of my ideas of wild rambunctious fun either," Blaise added, from his lounging position on one of the front tables.

There was a cough of protest coming from the Ravenclaw corner.

"Can it, Patil," Blaise snapped, "I don't need to hear about your lackluster escapades with carrot-top here."

I quickly interrupted, raising my voice to a higher volume than usual, trying to prevent an unnecessary scuffle that would ultimately be caused by too much testosterone. "As I was saying, you cannot switch or trade off, no matter how much you bitch and moan." They took this as their cue to do just that. "And you certainly, cannot fake illness, _Bulstrode_. You've got to be ill enough to be sent to St. Mungo's to be excused. And if you want to inflict self-injury that severe to get out of patrolling, well then, all the more power to you. However, I would like to point out that I have spent thirty-four days with Malfoy, and I haven't killed him yet-"

"Quite the _contrary_, babe," Malfoy felt necessary to drawl right at that moment, giving me an wink from his seat.

"Or _myself_," I ground out through my teeth, turning and giving him an exaggerated wink in return. There was a whoop from the Slytherin corner, and a "_Shut the hell up, Zabini!_" from the Gryffindor corner.

I sighed. "Are we satisfied? Can we move on now? Any _substantial_ complaints about your schedule, feel free to talk to either Malfoy or I whenever you happen to see us-"

"Except if you're idiotic, red-haired, and take a liking to red and gold," Malfoy shot back, looking pointedly at Ron. Ron, in turn, looked about ready to strangle him. "Excluding you, though, smaller, female, and overall better-looking Weasley," He added after a thought, and smirked at Ginny. Now Ginny, who had previously also looked quite ticked off and ready to lunge, had been slightly placated with the afterthought, but still looked quite affronted.

"It might be surprising for you to find out, but I was given a name, you know," Ginny shot at him. She was sitting with her legs crossed, elbows on the desk, leaning forward, with an eyebrow raised defiantly.

"Yeh. I know." Malfoy said in an uncommitted tone, and made no other move to speak afterwards.

I ignored the impulse to scream in frustration; the meeting was going nowhere near where it was supposed to be heading. I slapped the teacher's desk twice, instead, to get their attention back. "_Listen!_ Or you can slip a note through the Heads' portrait hole to let us know, alright then?"

There were a scattered few noncommittal grunts in response. I took that as a yes. I was quite good at the translation of the male-language to the English language.

"Now, I want to talk about possible ideas for upcoming school functions during the year. Ultimately, of course, they'll have to go through Professor Dumbledore, but I would like to get all of your approval first," I said. "Draco, why don't _you_ explain." I gave him a sickly sweet smile, which he returned with one of his own patented smirks.

"Be glad to, love."

As I smothered the impulse to smack him, he continued on, looking directly at me.

"Lots of dances, and probably a big to-do about graduation."

"Malfoy!"

"Oh right, sorry. And a Quidditch game."

"MALFOY!"

"What?"

"Thank you for _explaining_."

"Anytime."

Malfoy was still looking at me.

- - - - -

After another thirty minutes of my explaining about the upcoming events, as I tried to rectify Malfoy's extremely convincing performance, we let the Prefects out. By the end, a few of them seemed to hint that the meeting was running a bit over anyhow, with their loud, exaggerated yawns ("_You open your mouth one more damn time, MacMillan, and I'm going to punch you so hard, your mother won't even recognize you_," had said the ever articulate Malfoy).

As the last of the Prefects filed out, I overheard, "Does the hem of my skirt look ripped to you?" Susan was fingering the bottom of her skirt in confusion, as Ginny looked on.

I suppressed the urge to laugh, and instead, quickly left the room after them, shutting the classroom door behind me, and headed for the Heads' dormitory, with Malfoy following close behind.

"Hey," He said, grabbing my arm. I half turned to face him, caught off guard. It wasn't everyday that Draco Malfoy made skin-on-skin contact. I raised an eyebrow in question.

"You don't like me much, do you," He said it bluntly, like a statement, rather than a question. His eyes were intent and probing, having turned a dark steel gray. His mouth was set in a firm line, a corner of it lifting ever-so slightly. There was a mixture of amusement, and a conflicting battle between impassiveness and curiosity on his face. It was subtle, but it was there.

"Actually," I said, pulling my arm out of his grasp, and continuing to walk to the Heads' dormitory. "You're almost tolerable. At times," I added after a thought, as I saw Malfoy's expression take on its usual pronounced amusement and cockiness. "You haven't called me a mudblood in a while." I chanced a look at his face. He looked as impassive as ever.

"Yeah." Well, there it was. His heart on his sleeve.

We didn't speak for a few long seconds. It wasn't exactly a tense situation. More like awkward for me, whereas Malfoy was probably reveling in the fact that he was able to make it so awkward. Thank god we finally reached the portrait hole.

"_Harry Potter Sucks_." I whispered quickly to the portrait. It had been Malfoy's turn to pick the password for the dormitory. I had a sneaking suspicion that he wanted to get me back after I had picked the previous password - "_I love Gryffindors_." Although, to be fair, I had only picked such a ridiculous password that teemed with sickening (I could even acknowledge that fact) house-pride, was because he had picked the password the week before - "_Malfoy is sex on legs_", and I was forced to say it twenty-four times that week. It was twenty-four times of mental agony, and also twenty-four times of a nagging doubt appearing and eating away at my rational thought, replacing common sense with the possibility that perhaps it was true.

We were rather immature when we wanted to be.

The portrait swung open, and we stepped inside the cozy common room. A house elf had apparently lit the fireplace, so the dancing flames highlighted the strong, attractive features on Malfoy's face. I made a point to stare at a space right next to his head.

"Goodnight, Malfoy," I said, lightly pushing past his shoulder to walk up the stairs to my room.

Well, I would've been walking up the stairs, had he not grabbed my arm and swung me around to face him. There was a second of pause where he just looked at me, clenching his jaw, and then:

"I like you, Granger."

To put it lightly, I was entirely taken aback by the bluntness of his statement. I was also quite sure that I looked like a highly unattractive gaping fish.

He, on the other hand, looked extremely attractive, as usual. A lock of blond hair still fell rebelliously into his eye, and he had the semblance of a 5 o'clock shadow. His mouth was slightly parted, and his lower lip was almost asking to be ravished.

It was bad, _bad _situation.

Even after admitting his feelings (which was quite a feat, as considering how, on the Malfoy scale, his declaring some semblance of attraction to _me,_ might as well have been the same as declaring his undying and utter love to another girl), he looked as calm and composed as ever. He didn't even seem to be waiting for an answer from me, or even some sort of admittance of attraction in return. He looked rather placated, in fact. Life was never fair.

While I running through all this in my head, Malfoy had somehow managed to get his hands up to my shoulders, and his mouth was suddenly brushing my ear, and the sensitive skin just below my ear. And, _oh… _I sighed into his hair, and I could feel his lips smile against my neck in response.

"I'm going to get you, somehow," He whispered into my ear, close enough that his lips brushed my skin as he spoke. And just like that, he let go of me. His eyes were dark, clouded, and he was breathing rather hard. He ran a hand roughly through his hair, and quickly turned and walked up the stairs. His bedroom door slammed shut, but I was still standing in the same spot where he left me, unmoving. I suppose I should've said at least _something_ in response when he was there, rather than stand there transfixed like a fool.

I would've been appalled at myself, and even furious with him, had I not been so disoriented.

Or maybe had I not liked it so much.

His words hung heavily in the air.


	4. Dilemma

"Pass the quill."

I nearly jumped a mile, when the voice spoke. Malfoy was looking at me, with a sort of expectant look on his face. Why was he looking so bloody expectant? Don't tell me he expected me to jump and ravish him there in the middle of Potions class, merely because he had admitted some sort of attraction to me the night before, in what was probably a temporary lapse of his sanity. Also, why did he have take the damn seat next to the right of me? Ron _always_ sat there, and he damn right knew it! Didn't he realize that Harry and Ron were on the brink of wringing his neck, as it was? Did we have to completely antagonize them by sitting in Gryffindor territory? What was _wrong_ with him; and why was he still looking at me so expectantly?

"Can you pass the _quill_,"

Oh. Right.

I passed him the quill.

I was on edge. I had shrieked when Harry had tapped me on the shoulder during breakfast, and snapped at Ron when he had asked me what I was up to last night. After my episodes, Harry and Ron went off to whisper in the corner about "_her time of the month_", and "_damn, she's moody_", in a way they deemed subtle and unable to be overheard, which was apparently not the case, as Seamus looked up, amused, and quirked a questioning eyebrow at me.

I had shot him a, 'don't even try it, Finnigan' look, and he had held up his hands in a mock surrender gesture, and then pointed at my two best friends as if to play the blame.

At the moment, I was pretending to listen carefully to what Snape was saying- something about idiocy, and how it was extremely prevalent in the Gryffindor House. As per usual. In actuality, however, I was closely observing everything that Malfoy did beside me, out of the corner of my eye. He was reclining in his chair, legs stretched out in front of him, either for comfort, or to really piss off Neville, who was trying to push his chair further out for more room, but Malfoy's shoes were conveniently in his way.

Noting Malfoy's highly amused expression, or rather, remembering that he was _Malfoy_, it was probably the latter.

His left hand was also fiddling with the quill I had just handed him.

"You're left-handed," I blurted out, speaking to him for the first time since last night.

He just looked at me for a second. And then suddenly, he leaned into the crook of my neck, to whisper in my ear, "Keen observation. But we've been practically living together for, what, a month now?" His proximity was somewhat disorienting. I could smell him; woody, musky, cloying, clean.

He smelled very, _very_ good.

Suddenly, there was a series of loud, hacking coughs coming from my left. It sounded like someone was dying. The abruptness of the sound almost caused me to fall off my chair, whereas Malfoy merely lifted is head to glare at the offending cougher.

Snape spoke immediately, preventing the outburst of a few choice words that seemed to be on the brink of spewing out of Malfoy's mouth. "For _God sakes_, Mr. Potter, if you're going to purposely cough out your lungs, could you not do it in my classroom, and save us all the sight?"

I turned to look curiously at my best fried to my left, who was currently in the process of turning a dark red. He seemed to be deciding between whether to strangle Malfoy, or shoot something undoubtedly smart-assed back at Snape, that would inevitable invite a month long of detention with Filch. I wondered if he was smart enough to shut up for his own good.

I pinched him arm, just in case.

I heard him hiss slightly, but he didn't say another word. Smart boy. There was a chuckle from Malfoy on my right, and I could feel the veins in Harry's hand tighten under my hand as his fist clenched, in response.

I used my other arm to sharply slap Malfoy in the thigh. It wasn't intended to be a sexual gesture, rather more inconspicuous as it was done under the table and out of Snape's line of sight. However, Malfoy seemed to take it that away, as evidenced by his slow smirk and cocked eyebrow. The effect was slightly lessened by the fact that he was also rubbing his thigh at the same time.

"I already told you, Granger. _Later_." His tone was mocking, but his eyes held all seriousness. Malfoy had even made sure to say it loud enough that everyone within close proximity could hear, including Zabini, across the aisle, who let out a loud snort of mixed derision and amusement. Conveniently, however, Snape seemed deaf to both of the Slytherins' outbursts.

House loyalty and all, I figure.

I did not chance a look at Harry or Ron during the rest of the Potions class. I didn't need to; merely by looking at Malfoy, who was having quite the laugh to himself just looking at their faces, I could tell it wasn't pretty.

- - - - -

Potions was my last class for the day. I rushed off to the Heads' dormitory, before Harry and Ron could bombard me with questions, akin to: "why the hell was Malfoy looking at you like that?", or even worse: "why the hell were you looking at Malfoy like _that_?".

Of course, Malfoy was right behind me. He had quite the talent for always being exactly where he wasn't wanted. Like a cold sore.

Yes, exactly like a cold sore.

I hurriedly muttered the password to the portrait and climbed into the common room. Malfoy shut the door behind himself, after me.

I turned around to face him. "Why are you here?" I demanded, putting my hands on my hips.

He looked sort of amused at the question. But then again, when did he not. "Last time I checked, I slept here too," he muttered faintly, lifting his head up to look around the room as if to play up the drama of recognizing it for the first time.

I opened my mouth to snap something sarcastic back, but he interrupted me. "And you've been avoiding me," he accused lightly.

I took up a defensive tone. "Since when?"

To combat my defensiveness, he seemed to decide that it was the perfect opportunity to be condescending. "Since _last night_."

He had a point. During lunch, we were supposed to discuss switching Blaise Zabini's patrolling shift for Terry Boot's, because apparently, Zabini had quidditch practice on Friday night. I had a sneaking suspicion that Zabini merely felt that he was allergic to red hair and freckles. However, I had backed out of our meeting last minute, and bribed some small first-year Gryffindor girl into relaying to Malfoy the reason for my absence: I had a nasty bout of the magical flu.

I had given her some Weasley Wheezes that had been dumped unceremoniously upon me by Ron, after his oh-so generous declaration that, "_they're extras from the new order in, and I've got no more space under my bed, so I figured I'd just give 'em to you._" And after much more convincing of her on my part that, "_Draco Malfoy isn't so bad_," she was off. I felt rather bad about bribing the girl afterwards, but was somewhat placated by the fact that knowing Malfoy, he wouldn't hex a girl into oblivion.

Only unless she was part of the Weasley family; or, well, me.

"Come to think of it, you don't look very sick at all," Malfoy suddenly said, taking a step forward towards me. I was very proud of my willpower, that prevented me from stepping back as he approached. All that would've done, was let him know that he was intimidating and dominant. And even though he did look rather intimidating and attractive in his black trousers, white oxford shirt rolled up at the sleeves, and his dark green tie that was loosened at the neck, I wasn't about to let him know that.

And it was while I was mulling over his clothing choices, that he had taken a few more steps towards me, putting about three inches between our bodies, and bringing my viewpoint to his neck.

I tilted my head to look him in the eye, and gave him a look that I hoped screamed defiance and '_don't touch_'. Apparently not, considering how instead of making a run for it, he lifted his hand to lightly brushed my temple.

"No fever," he murmured. His hand was warm, and his breath was minty cool against my cheek. I shivered, against my better judgement. And then, suddenly, his lips were on my neck. I could feel him trail kisses from my collarbone to my jaw, and his tongue… _oh_, his tongue was tracing lightly along my skin.

He had one hand on the small of my back, and the other, on my cheek. His lips were kissing their way to the corner of my mouth, and then, in what was probably a temporary lapse of my better judgment, I took my right hand and lightly pushed his jaw towards me, so that now I was kissing him. Full on.

If I had been sane at that moment, and not practically overcome with my hormonal wants, I would've realized that _I _was the one who had initiated the first kiss with Draco Malfoy. And in the hazy back of my mind, during a brief moment of hilarity, I thought: "_Damn, he kisses better than Finnigan_."

His mouth was amazing. The kiss was hard, and raw, and _passionate_. My hands seemed traitors, as one of them wove its way around his neck and into his hair, and the other made its way to press against the broad expanse of his chest. He seemed to be just as affected as I was, and he groaned. It was a raw, animalistic sound, in the back of his throat. His tongue was gently prodding against my mouth, to part, and I obliged. And then…

I suddenly pulled back from him, breaking out of his grasp, gasping for breath. He looked disoriented and confused. He was breathing hard, hair mussed, tie askew, looking extremely ravished. But it was his eyes that did it. They were a dark, cloudy gray, and intense upon my face. 

It was him who spoke first, after a second of silence. "_Goddamn_, Granger," He growled, his voice hoarse. He didn't really look like himself. I was pretty sure that I didn't really look like myself either. His right fist was clenched, not in anger, but like he was trying to suppress something. There was a noticeable bulge in crotch area of his pants.

And then he was on me again, aiming to kiss me. However, I turned my face away last minute, and his lips made contact with my cheek. He growled in frustration.

"M-Malfoy… we can't," I stuttered very uncharacteristically of myself. It was hard to accept that Malfoy could have such an effect on me.

"Of _course_ we can. Just follow my lead," He whispered huskily. The combination of his breathless voice and the feeling of his thumb rubbing hypnotic circles on my jaw, almost made me oblige. Almost.

"No. Malfoy, we have to stop," I said it firmly, even though my legs were trembling. It took all my willpower to push myself out of his embrace, even though every nerve in my body was screaming in protest. I could feel the cold air take up the space where his warm body had been pressed up against me just seconds ago.

He looked lost and dumbfounded for just a brief second. It probably wasn't everyday that Draco Malfoy was refused something. From the look on his face, it was probably something he really wanted, and just knowing this, contributed to some perverse personal satisfaction on my part.

I took advantage of his brief moment of disorientation and quickly booked it to my room. I was extremely shaken. I don't even quite remember how I even made it to my room and managed to shut the door, but I did.

- - - - -

I sat on the edge of my bed for a long while. After my inebriated and lusty thoughts settled a bit, and my rational sense came back, I started thinking the situation out. I had already planned out how to do the damage control. I would fix it. Kissing Draco Malfoy was the absolute end of this mess. I wouldn't allow it to go further than that. Finally, when I was satisfied with my thoughts, I shut off the light, and lay in bed.

But I didn't go to sleep for a long, _long _time.

- - - - -

A/N: This is my first author's note. Thank you so much for all the positive reviews! I've had nothing much to do this summer, so I thought, why not?

And as always, please review it. I'd love to hear what you have to say, and your opinions really initiate me to write more.


	5. Rebuttal

I was going somewhat insane. I was sitting in bloody Transfiguration class and instead of concentrating on McGonagall's lecture about the impossibility of food transfiguration, all I could think about was Hermione Granger. Honestly, I felt rather sick at myself and what was surely an unhealthy attachment.

She was good. I had had a lot of women, and I needed to be honest with myself. Hermione Granger was a good kisser. She had gotten me a lot more riled up than I had planned on getting, to the point that it had lost a little bit of self-control by the time we stopped. I wouldn't be surprised if she read up on how to kiss. She was Granger, after all. And to top it all off, _she _was the one who initiated the kiss, although to give myself some credit, I had done a pretty good job of prodding her along in order to get to that point.

And then, of course, she was also the one who stopped it.

I have never been refused. Whether by my parents, professors (okay, maybe McGonagall - but she had a soft spot for me, I could tell), or women. I was too good-looking to be refused. Really, never. But now, Granger was messing with my head. She had somehow took my heart and pushed it into my stomach, so that now my heart was being grossly digested, which was now responsible for an ever-increasing feeling of tightness and choking in my chest, regardless of whether she was, or wasn't around. This feeling of refusal and frustration was very foreign. It did not bode well with me.

And to be honest, it really pissed me off.

Yet, despite this, if it was possible, I wanted her even more after we had kissed, two days ago. I was always in for the thrill of the chase.

- - - - -

I was sitting in lunch. Ginny was looking at me with an expression of mixed astonishment, incredulity, and extreme amusement. In short, she looked like she was really trying not to have what would probably be a loud and obnoxious laugh, at my expense.

This was probably due to the fact that I had just told her about my midnight confrontation with Draco Malfoy from two days ago.

At least she didn't look like the female version of the angry Ronald Weasley.

"_Goddamn_. Did pretty good for yourself, didn't you?" Ginny smirked, in a very inappropriate way.

I gave her a look in response.

She was rubbing her nose with her left hand, as if to pass off the fact that she had a runny nose. It was extremely obvious, however, that she was just trying to cover up a growing snort of amusement.

"Anyways," she continued, "you haven't told Harry or Ron, have you?"

I gave her yet another look.

"Right, check. Hermione Granger isn't stupid." After she thought, she added, "Or suicidal, on that note."

"Harry and Ron wouldn't kill _me_."

"Yeah, I s'pose. But they would kill Malfoy. Well, then, better make it homicidal," she said, waving her fork a bit in the air. She was still rubbing her nose.

I was quiet for quite a bit, as Ginny looked at me, expectantly.

"Well?" She finally asked, pointing her fork at me, the sharp prongs precariously close to my face.

"_What?_" I asked, leaning back a bit.

"For god sakes," She said, rolling her eyes, in an exasperated tone. "How _was _he?"

I paused for a second, and then, "He was... fine." I was sure my face turned an extremely attractive shade of red, because, as I knew so well, Draco Malfoy was not just fine.

And apparently, Ginny knew it too, as a look of incredulity spread across her face.

Her tone instigated a feeling of having been insulted, as if I had not trusted her enough to tell her the truth. In actuality, I didn't even trust myself. By saying merely saying it aloud, would just confirm the fact that Malfoy had actually gotten to me. Ginny said, "Fine? _Fine? _My bloody Great Aunt Gemma, is fine. Fine is about as descriptive as Ron is, well, sensitive," Ginny said in a great huff, continuing, "Now Draco Malfoy? He is gorgeous, delicious, fine-_looking_, you could say. But kissing-wise? Fine? If that boy is good for nothing else, at least give him the credit of being adequate in that aspect."

At least now, she had stopped rubbing her nose.

Seamus just happened to be passing by at that moment, and from the look on his face, had caught the last bit of Ginny's rant. He got a snarky sort of look on his face, and went, "Thanks, babe," clapping Ginny on the shoulder and walking off, before she could clap him back where it would hurt him most, as she would've most likely done.

"Anyways," She breathed, after a glare at his retreating back. "So tell me the truth, how was Draco Malfoy?"

"Good." And after she shot me another look, I finally sighed in defeat. "Fine; _amazing_," I hissed under my breath, completely paranoid that I would be overheard. After I was sure that no one was listening in, I continued in a more normal volume, "But come on. It's to be expected 'cause I'm sure that he's got lots of experience."

She gave me a 'spare me' sort of look that looked scarily similar to the ones that Malfoy gave me when I told him to sort out his clothes from the washed laundry pile that Dobby insisted on doing every Sunday morning, despite my insistence otherwise.

It was all very domestic and rather sickening, our situation.

"Can't you just appreciate a good thing when you come across it?" She stated, exasperated.

"You know what are good things? Good things are damn unicorns and, admittedly, Blaise Zabini without a shirt, alright? But a you-know-what with you-know-who is not going to do so bloody well for my credibility as a person, as I'm probably going to be just another notch on his bedspread and a fascinating story to tell to the boys on my night off!"

Dean Thomas was just passing, and glanced at us. "Pissy mood, yeah?" He said with a wink, at me.

"Shut it, Thomas," Ginny snapped, without even turning to glance in his direction. I could still see him, laughing to himself as he walked out of the Great Hall. After a moment, she refocused her attention back on me. "You know, he likes you. Dean."

"_Dean_??"

She adopted her trademark condescending stare-down, which was most likely an acquired trait from her mother who had probably used it to raise five teenage boys. Not to mention, Ginny, too, who wasn't exactly the made of sugar, spice, and everything nice. "Yes. Dean Thomas, you know; Gryffindor chaser, brown hair, blue eyes, almost six-foot, I wager, has a tendency to spout inappropriate comments at the most unwarranted times. Ring a bell?"

"How do you _know _this?"

"Besides the fact that his sister tells me things, I'm not exactly blind."

"I'm not blind, either," I shot back, affronted.

"Not blind, per say, more like completely and utterly ignorant in all aspects of these matters." And before I could offer a rebuttal, she quickly waved her hand, and switched topics. "Enough about Dean. Let's talk about a prospect that's substantially more intriguing. So, Malfoy's tongue...?"

"Needs to be cut off and shoved up his ass."

"Hermione!"

"What? Ouch! Fine! He has a very adept in his tongue usage, alright?"

"Knew it."

"Knew, _what_?"

"He's getting to you."

"Like hell he is!"

"Alright. So what are you going to do?

"Well, I'm definitely going to talk to him; sort this out. It was a mistake, on both our parts-"

"But you liked it."

"_AND_, I'm sure that he feels the same way. Afterwards, we're going to go on living our lives in a very normal fashion."

"So when do you plan on having this discussion?" Ginny asked, with a cocked eyebrow. "Because, I have a feeling that Malfoy won't be very inclined to talk. Boys aren't exactly known for communicating." And although she was being pretty piss-off condescending, I could acknowledge the fact that there was a certain amount of truth in her argument. And I wasn't making it any better by avoiding him for the last two days, although quite successfully at that, I might add. I had managed to get Harry to lend me his invisibility cloak, after convincing him that, "No, Harry, I'm not going to use it to sneak out with Finnigan again," and had been sneaking into the Heads' dormitories after curfew, every night.

Honestly, that incident always seemed to pop out of my arse every day, to make my life just that little bit harder than it had to be.

Suddenly realizing the absurdity of my actions, merely to avoid confrontation, I dropped my head into my hands. "Why am I making such a big deal out of this?" I moaned into my sleeves.

"Exactly. I'd like to say that this is not exactly the horrendously tragic situation that you so obviously think it is. I mean, really, _poor you_, kissed Draco Malfoy. "

"You have absolutely no compassion."

"What do you think, woman? I grew up with five bloody brothers. It was one of those dog-eat-dog situations."

- - - - -

I was sitting on the bed, fiddling with the hem of my scarlet bedspread. And then, I heard it: the click of the portrait as it swung open and close downstairs in the common room, the light padding of footsteps, and then, the familiar, characteristic thumps of shoes being flung across the common room. Then, of course, the loud series of thuds, as books were dropped carelessly on the floor. The sound of it almost pained me.

Malfoy was home.

I had been waiting for him. I needed to talk to him. It was more of a feeling of overwhelming responsibility and necessity, rather than want. I even had on a dark gray, shorter-than-preferred, and a little tighter-than-comfortable, skirt, borrowed from Ginny. She had deemed it the 'power skirt', and swore by it, insisting that it had made the majority of the males she had ever targeted ask her out, on their own initiative.

Which, I must say, was quite a feat, although it was not quite the effect that I was going for in this situation.

But Ginny had insisted, so I was wearing it.

I carefully made my way down the stairs, and then I saw him. He had his broom in one hand, and he was shirtless, with a towel slung around his neck. Obviously, he had just come back from Quidditch practice, but I still wondered if he had dressed, or rather, _not _dressed, like that intentionally, in order to completely disorient me and force me to basically ravish him, right then and there.

Because it was almost working.

Apparently not, as the look of surprise on his face depicted. "_Granger_," He breathed, and almost comically, but unintentionally, whipped the towel from around his neck, and held it, bunched up against his chest with his right hand, as if to cover himself. And then, almost immediately afterwards, as if realizing the absurdity of his actions, took it and threw it to the side. "Where have you _been_?" He seemed a little angry, flustered, and sort of frustrated.

I decided to go for the vague approach. "Around," I dismissed mildly.

"_God_," He ground out, looking away for a brief second, and running his hand roughly through his hair. He was agitated, I could tell. "Neglect all your Head duties, and avoid me, all because you don't want to finish what you started." There was a purposeful glint in his eye.

"It's only been two days, Malfoy." I had taken a bit of defensive edge to my voice.

He didn't say a word in response. For once, he didn't need to. For a brief second, I could just see the expression on his face. It read something like this: he had always been the manipulator; the one who just up and left. It didn't matter if it had only been two days, because during that time, I had somehow become the enabler, while he had regressed to point of being the enabled.

And then, his face closed up, just like that. I took a step towards him, folding my arms in a defensive gesture, across my chest. "I need to talk to you about that, as a matter of fact," I said, in what I hoped was a calm and steady voice. It was slightly off-putting to be standing so close to him. He was covered in a fine sheen, and his hair was slightly damp. Although the expression on his face depicted carelessness, his eyes were intense and dark.

"Well?" He raised an eyebrow, in expectancy.

"What we did. Two nights ago-"

"You mean, kissed."

"Yes. It was obviously a mistake on both our parts. I mean, we were both caught up in the heat of the moment-"

"No, I don't make mistakes, Granger."

And there was silence. He was just looking at me, but made no move towards me. I wasn't shocked, to be honest, just a little annoyed.

"Yes, Malfoy. It was a _mistake_," I said, as if emphasizing the statement would convince him of it.

He was still looking at me, radiating with intensity. And then, "Does this-" In a few quick strides towards me, he had made it so that our bodies were now in pressing contact, and I was pressed up against the wall. "Feel like a mistake?" His voice was husky, as he put one of his hands on my hip, and the other on the wall, next to my head.

And to be honest, to answer his question, no it did not. In fact, it felt very good, and very warm. His body was slightly damp, and he smelled like he had just come from the shower. My mind was doing that hazy thing again, that happened two nights ago, which was not quite what I wanted to happen.

Then, he kissed me. Hard. It was almost bruising, but effectual. I understood what he wanted, but I didn't want to give myself into him. His thumb was tracing circles on my hip, and I shuddered against him, against my better judgment. My arms had apparently uncrossed themselves sometime while he was kissing me, and found their way around his neck.

He was pressing himself into me. His kiss was demanding, urgent, and needy. His tongue pushed its way into my mouth, and then, I was lost.

Suddenly, there was a rush of cool air, where his body had been. He had pulled himself away from me, and was standing there, now a foot away from me, breathing rapidly. I felt strangely empty, and braced myself against the wall for support. His eyes were clouded with something unidentifiable.

"You're a tease, Granger, you know that?" His voice was hoarse, and despite the fact that he was trying to emit a feeling of power and dominance, he looked just as frazzled as I felt.

And then, he had turned and quickly walked off, towards the stairs leading to the dormitories. Just as he reached the top, I saw him half-turn around, barely look at me, and say, "And don't plan on avoiding me, anymore. We have to plan the upcoming school event, the Halloween-_whatever_, soon. You're going to be seeing _a lot _of me." His voice was still hoarse.

He walked off, and when the slam of his bedroom door signified that he was gone, I could finally breathe again.

That did not go quite like I had planned.


End file.
